Funhouse
by remedy25
Summary: Entry for We Heart Mobward contest. Judges Hopesparkles's 2nd choice and FallingInLoveInDecember's 3rd choice. Every town has a weird family that everyone avoided. For the longest time, that was the Newtons. They largely committed petty crimes, but that's what danger looked like then. That was the biggest threat to our way of life. Then the Cullens came.


**Hello out there! This was something I wrote for the We Heart Mobward contest. Popped up in the top 3 of two judges (FallingInLoveInDecember's 3rd choice pick and Hopesparkles's 2nd choice pick), which is really fucking cool considering all of the ah-mazing entries. Seriously, people brought their A game, and they're all worth reading. This is the expanded entry, but the contest one is on the contest page which is linked below. Big, fat kisses and thanks to everyone involved, especially Pay it Forward, the organizer of the contest and SunshineFran!**

Killer POV:

I was ten years old when I went to my first carnival. Cotton candy, infectious excitement, merry-go-rounds; it was a Polaroid that captured innocence so sweet, it'd give anyone a toothache.

My favorite was the funhouse room with the mirrors. I marveled at the way one person seemed to spill over dozens of reflective surfaces, each image casting a separate identity that took on its own life. Unflattering angles are forcibly projected, every erratic twitch rippling throughout the room. My friends always found them creepy and unsettling, and I get it. It's the perfect setup for all those cheesy horror movies that we used to watch at sleepovers, jeering at the dumb blondes and rolling our eyes at the meatheads who go down to the basement.

Don't they know how stupid they are? I'd never do that, they'd exclaim.

Are you sure?

Doesn't fear bring with it excitement (or is it the other way around)? Is it human nature to look but not notice, to hear a scratch at a window but reassure ourselves it's probably a branch?

Could you truly walk away from that door, when you're standing right in front of it?

Well, maybe you should. Because some doors you open, and you never come back.

* * *

DAY 2

"I can't help you," I repeated. Everything seemed to spread more quickly in a smaller town, like a mosquito carrying West Nile. Thirty-six hours ago, I'd stepped off a plane back into my past, the dry heat smothering me with its welcome.

Tanya Cullen shifted forward, sky blue eyes widening imploringly. "Her name is Jessica Stanley. She goes to school with me, but hasn't shown up in the past week."

"So call the cops." Take the time off, the guys at the precinct had suggested. Step outside the station and be a normal person.

She scowled, reminding me that she was fifteen. "They'll never listen to me. You know who I am."

As arrogant as that line was, she might actually get away with it.

Forks, Texas. It used to be a lot smaller, with a sea of white picket fences and friendly neighbors. Trust was a social commodity; everyone knew each other and their moms.

But every town has a weird family to be avoided. For the longest time, that was the Newtons. "Never be alone with a Newton" was repeated more than the town slogan ("Come on home").

They largely committed petty crimes, but that's what danger looked like then. That was the biggest threat to our way of life.

Then the Cullens came.

An arm of Cosa Nostra, or the Italian mafia, they looked to expand their drug trafficking and settled on Forks, a two hour's drive from the border. By the time I was in high school, the crime rate had tripled. Those who dared to whisper about their activities were found butchered in their homes the next morning.

It was a simple message, and an effective one.

But then the recession hit. While everyone else lost their security, the Cullens became richer. Backed into a corner, residents turned to work for them, choosing livelihood over principle. Money and capital poured in, leading to taller buildings and bigger houses. People started to enjoy this taste of the big city lifestyle, ignoring the moral price tag attached.

The Cullens didn't just own this town-they made it.

Tanya tucked a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. "I...said some horrible things to her, and now she's gone."

I reached inside the fridge to grab a pitcher of iced tea, the Southern manners I thought I'd shed long ago kicking in. "I'm only here to pack up the house," I explained, handing her a glass.

Her hopeful expression deflated.

"Please," she whispered. "There's no one else."

I took a slow sip. "You and I both know that's not true."

Her chin lifted defiantly. "They won't listen to me. No one will."

A week. That's all the time I'd allow myself in this town, the memories crawling up my skin like icy fingers that threatened to pull me under.

"I'm sorry." My grip tightened. "I can't get involved when I'm not sticking around."

Her gaze dropped to the floor with a solemn nod. As she brushed past me, I heard a defeated sigh.

"I wish I could disappear," she whispered, as if she'd learned her happiness was simply a lie.

It's only after she drove away that I shivered, even as a bead of sweat trickled down my shirt.

* * *

DAY 3

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.

"Swan," I answered, my voice thickened from sleep.

"Where's the Bulger report?" Jake, fellow detective and cranky old man in disguise, barked.

I rubbed my eyes. "I dropped it off with Rose. Said she needed to see it before court."

"When was that? Never mind, I found it. Her desk isn't managed by someone who escaped an insane asylum," Jake grumbled.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Do that and I'm not calling you back with the latest update on the case," he retorted, gathering files.

The sheets pooled around my waist as I sat up, my pulse quickening. "Tell me."

"The other lead you and Rose had?" He paused. "His body was found a few hours ago in Quincy."

Of course. Just another non-break in this nightmare of a case. "Foul play?"

"Looks like it." A drawer opened and shut. "Slit throat, multiple stab wounds to the chest. Fits the MO of our other suspects."

I leapt out of bed, frustration in every step as I walked over to my suitcase. "Doesn't he know you're not supposed to kill off the people who could exonerate you?"

He sipped something slowly, probably coffee. "He's getting cocky, Bells. Which makes him easier to catch."

"And more dangerous," I argued, slipping on a tank top. "What did Whitlock say about it?"

"Nothing yet. The autopsy's scheduled for tomorrow."

"Good," I affirmed, mentally reminding myself to ask about the results from the medical examiner, Alice Whitlock, later. "Thanks. Miss me?" The corner of my lips tilted upward.

He snorted, just as his desk phone started to ring. "I keep telling myself not to get used to the peace and quiet."

"Love you too," I teased. The phone slid onto the sheets, and I scrubbed my hands over my face. It was still dark out, but adrenaline pulsed through me, making me jittery.

Tightening the elastic of my ponytail, I left for my favorite spot in town-a small meadow-like clearing a few miles from the house. Dawn beckoned the morning lazily, heat settling in like a hazy mist, so I hid under the leafiest tree and waited for sunrise.

For the past three years, I'd been chasing a serial killer who abducted young women in the greater Boston area. Victims were found tortured and killed in maze-like rooms filled with distorted mirrors, staged to resemble those from a carnival. The Funhouse Killer, the Boston Globe had proclaimed. There'd been twelve identified victims in the past five years, with no clear leads. Every time I found something promising, the trail eventually led to a dead end.

The latest suspect had been the most promising one. Until a few hours ago.

"Isabella Swan." A lower, roughened version of a familiar voice interrupted the early morning stillness. "It's been a long time."

I stiffened. Icy awareness illuminated my nerve endings until my breaths evened out again.

You've arrested murderers and rapists. Calm down.

"You're not exactly who I expected from the homecoming brigade." I pivoted around. "Or are you here for my lunch money?"

Edward Cullen, the youngest son of the Cullen crime family, smoothly tucked his hands into the pockets of his expensive trousers. Sharp, green eyes fixed on me, barely dulled by the blade of time.

The son of a bitch still looked good. Too good. His unruly auburn hair had finally been tamed and cut short, darkened with age. Smooth muscles had become more defined, the biceps straining against a black t-shirt that stretched over a broad chest. Light stubble dusted his jaw, providing the necessary shading for his character, since a twirly mustache would've been too much.

He'd been my first and only crush in high school, driven by hormones and the allure of the forbidden. I wished it'd been that simple-sheriff's daughter lusting after the local bad boy. Unlike his older brothers, Edward hadn't attended weekend ragers or fucked his way through the school. He wasn't challenging or brash, but quiet and observant, typically standing on the outside of the "Fight! Fight! Fight!" circle, where we'd occasionally lock eyes.

So I painted a romantic picture of this Edward Cullen, a sensitive soul who was misunderstood. Maybe he wanted to break free of his obligation and do something more with his life. Maybe I could help him achieve that, like we were a twisted version of Romeo and Juliet.

But fantasies all come to an end. Sometimes violently.

"Let's start with information," he suggested, as if we hadn't talked in over a decade. "My niece went to see you yesterday. Why?"

It was tempting to evade his question and get the fuck out of there, but curiosity poked me, winning out instead. "She asked me to help find a missing classmate," I explained, watching him closely and ignoring the resulting goosebumps. "I politely declined."

His lips twitched. "You're nothing if not polite." Like a sheriff's daughter could be anything else. "How long was she there?"

I narrowed my eyes at his eerily calm tone. "Ten minutes, maybe. Did something happen?"

"She didn't mention her plans for the day, or where she was going?"

"I'm not sure if you've heard," I interjected, keeping my annoyance in check. "But I became a detective. So if you're going to be the one asking questions, then I get answers."

Amusement skipped along his features, disappearing under a stony mask.

"Tanya's car was abandoned near the Interstate two hours after she left your house," he revealed quietly. "We haven't seen or heard from her since."

"It's not my house," I corrected, heat pricking the nape of my neck. "She was out of sight for two hours, and now no one can find her?"

His lips thinned. "We normally don't give people the chance to run."

Having been in homicide for years, I'd heard a lot of threats and gruesome details. But his matter-of-fact tone sent a chill skittering down my spine, as dread coalesced in my gut.

"It's only been a couple of hours," I reasoned, trying to sound convincing. "She could still show up."

Grim acceptance shadowed his features. "In my line of work, disappearances are never accidental."

Fair enough. "Is it naive to assume that you've talked to the cops?"

He shifted, his arms flexing against the tight material of his shirt. "It's naive to assume we've talked to anyone since your father passed."

Familiar uneasiness squeezed at my chest.

The local police had recognized how limited their options were when it came to the Cullens. My dad, the sheriff, chose compromise over war, convincing them that he'd turn a blind eye to their operations as long as the bloodshed stopped and they wouldn't recruit anyone under 18. Surprisingly, they'd agreed to the conditions. And though the overall crime rate was higher than before, there were fewer gunshots fired, limbs broken, and screams heard.

Everyone followed the rules, so long as the rules were enforced.

I was conflicted about his tenure as sheriff, but Charlie Swan had been a great dad. He protected those who couldn't protect themselves, even if that meant becoming vulnerable in other ways. There'd been trust between him and Aro Cullen, the patriarch and previous Capo. That trust remained intact until they both died.

Caius Cullen and Seth Lahote had replaced them, and their relationship was nowhere near as amicable, leaving the town on the brink of war.

"I leave in five days," I pointed out, a last ditch effort to not become involved, even as a toxic mixture of guilt and foreboding churned in my gut.

Satisfaction flickered in his unfathomable gaze. "A lot can happen in five days, detective," he answered, emphasizing the last word. "Aside from being the last person to see her, I think you can handle a simple missing person's case."

"It doesn't sound like you're giving me a choice," I guessed flatly.

His face shuttered. "Where you and I are concerned, you've always been the one who had a choice."

There was a bitterness in his words, like I'd somehow beaten him in a game I didn't know I was playing. "I have to pack up Charlie's house," I repeated, a drop of sweat sliding down my forehead. "But I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." The words sounded foreign, coming from him. "Who's the missing classmate?"

"Jessica Stanley. Heard of her?"

He shook his head. Awareness sparked between us, like flint striking steel, igniting a universe of dormant memories. Flashes of blood spreading across the gym floor and cold, lifeless eyes resurfaced with disturbing vividness.

My fingers twitched instinctively towards the spot where I usually had my gun.

"Ten years." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "We're not who we were."

It was unclear whether he was asking or telling me.

I stepped forward, clenching my fists so they wouldn't shake. "I didn't know you then," I ground out. "And I definitely don't know you now."

Green eyes coolly assessed me, as if I was an unknown variable. He produced a small card and wisely placed it next to him. "My private cell is on the back. I suggest you use it."

Only after he left did I force myself to pick it up.

* * *

"When I told you to take a few days off, this isn't exactly what I had mind," Rose, my partner back in Boston, mused.

"I'd burn at the beach and the spa puts me to sleep," I quipped, grabbing another box. "What did you find on Jessica Stanley?"

"Not much. According to local PD, she was last spotted at the high school in a red, sweatshirt with some ripped tights. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5'4. No other distinctive features. Sporadic attendance, but a 3.7 GPA."

"Family?" I asked, putting the phone on speaker.

Her chair rolled across the linoleum floor. "Her dad, last seen at the school two months ago. They both moved here last year. Unclear if he was employed."

I frowned, tearing off a chunk of tape. "And there's no address on file?"

"None that I can find," she answered, typing. "That probably requires an in-person visit."

I rubbed my forehead tiredly, adding it on my to-do list. "Thanks. Any updates on the case?"

"Jake said Whitlock's still finishing up the autopsy." She scowled. "It didn't take this long on the last case."

"As long as we get something off the body, I don't care if it's used for a _Weekend at Bernie's_ remake." I cracked, taping over Charlie's box of books.

My hands stilled. "Ok, that was insensitive. I'm big enough to admit that."

"We're homicide detectives," she reminded me dryly. "We get to have a twisted sense of humor. It's how we cope."

"This is why we're partners," I affirmed, grinning.

"Speaking of twisted, how did I not know you went to school with a Cullen?" I pictured her eyebrows raising.

"I hoped it'd never be relevant." Or to come back.

"Except now you're working with him." She leaned back, a squeak escaping from her chair. "How's that going?"

I wiped the sweat from my face. Note to self: check the air conditioning unit and make sure it hasn't given up. "Haven't gotten whacked yet."

"Do they still say that?"

"Yep. While wearing Fedoras and everything," I deadpanned.

She snorted. "I'm sure they'll appreciate your sense of humor. I gotta run, but stay away from the Cullens, ya hear? Those boys ain't nothin' but trouble," she mimicked, sounding like a poor man's Foghorn Leghorn.

I hung up, a smile tugging at my lips.

And so the fun began. I arrived at Forks High an hour later, questioning teachers and the principal, who repeated the same thing: Jessica was always lost in her own world, usually alone, different and not in a good way. Her locker was empty. There wasn't even a picture in the yearbook, since she'd skipped school every time it'd been taken.

Jessica Stanley wouldn't have bothered anyone simply because no one had bothered to notice her.

Still, Tanya mentioned she'd said some horrible things to her, and Jessica checked off all the boxes of a typical bullying victim-poor, antisocial, female. It wasn't a coincidence they were both missing.

"Yes, I met with her dad to discuss her spotty attendance two months ago." Angela Weber, Jessica's homeroom teacher, confirmed. A shiver threatened her composure. "That was one of the few times I wished I had someone else with me."

"Why is that?"

She chewed on her lip nervously, fidgeting with her corduroy skirt. Angela and I had gone to school together, but lost touch after graduation. We'd bonded over our love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and resentment of being the daughters of authority figures. After her father, the pastor, passed away, she'd chosen to stay, attending state school over Ivy League to take care of her family.

To say I had respect for her was an understatement.

"He was shaking and twitching, his eyes bloodshot. You could tell he was on something," she remarked. "I knew he was barely listening to me the entire time, but frankly, I was relieved to see him go."

I jotted down a few notes. "Can you describe what he looked like?"

"I can do you one better. The classroom we met in has a security camera. And I can get the tapes," she said proudly, smirking.

Color me impressed. I smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ang. Do you remember if something or someone bothering her? Maybe a mean girl or a pushy teacher?"

She frowned, her glasses sliding down to the bridge of her nose. "I never saw anything, but I honestly wouldn't know, Bella. Teen girls are a special brand of vicious."

I cleared my throat. "Can you tell me anything else about Jessica Stanley or her father?"

She cocked her head, her lips pursed in contemplation. "I don't think-oh!" She jerked to the cabinet on her left and ruffled through the files.

"Ha!" Triumph appeared on her face, and she held out a sticky note. "I had to ask for a residential address, and this is what Jessica gave me." She lowered her voice. "It's near the Newtons' old house."

Aka the wrong side of town. We both exchanged knowing looks.

Angela sighed, shaking her head. "God bless that girl. Stuck with a deadbeat dad and poorer than the dirt off a shoe. She was smart, too. Just unlucky."

"Is," I corrected, a bit more forcefully than necessary.

She blinked, her glasses magnifying the confusion in her eyes. "What was that?"

"You said 'was'," I pointed out gently, straightening. "She could still be alive."

Her blue eyes dimmed with resignation.  
"In this town, that's probably the last thing she is."

* * *

After making plans to catch up with Angela before I left, preferably in a bar, I stopped procrastinating and went back home. While sorting out the sixth box of fishing paraphernalia, cursing my dad's hoarder tendencies, Rose called.

"I ran the social on the missing person's report," she started ominously. "Here's where it starts to veer into _Alias_ territory-the real Jessica Stanley grew up in Little Rock."

I froze, arm-deep in old fishing hooks. "Seriously?"

"Yep. And the dad-Horace Stanley? He's a minister there."

I sat back, stunned. "Did you track either of them down?"

"Sure did. Both are proud residents of Little Rock Cemetery."

"So we have two real people, posing as dead people from another state, who are now missing?"

"Affirmative." She hummed sympathetically. "Why don't we have normal problems?"

"My parents didn't hug me enough." I paced across the hardwood floor, a string of questions added to the tangled mess. Had Tanya somehow found out that Jessica wasn't who she said she was? Where was the father? And who was "Jessica"?

My eyebrows snapped together. "Thanks for checking this out. Any updates on Funhouse?"

"Not yet."

Nervous energy pulsed through me, prompting me to move faster. "Three bodies in two months. All of whom were our lead suspects." I shook my head. "That's too fast, Rose. It feels like an exit strategy."

She sighed heavily. "Meaning if we don't catch him soon, we lose him."

Fuck. My eyes snapped shut, the ever present anxiety building up into a violent wave of nausea that threatened to knock me over.

"We're close," Rose said softly, understanding my silence as distress. "Don't quit on me now."

Stop. You need to keep it together.

I exhaled deeply, boxes reappearing in my line of sight. "Never," I asserted gratefully. "Although I'm starting to see why the previously assigned detective lost his goddamn mind."

"Shot himself right next to his dog," she replied solemnly. "Poor thing was traumatized for months."

How was this helping me again? "Right, I'm going to check out the address I got from the school. Keep me posted."

"Will do."

The phone hit the floor, but drowsiness compelled me to ignore it and put my feet up on the couch instead. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the room grew fainter as my lids drooped. I imagined stuffing Tanya, Jessica, Edward, and the killer in a giant balloon that drifted further and further away.

As my eyes closed, I wondered what might happen if I never found my killer.

Or, what happened if I did.

* * *

DAY 4

Thank god I brought my gun, I thought, staring at the dilapidated, crumbling house. It loomed over me, the roof shingles missing or clinging to what was left of the foundation. Years ago, a fire must have torn through, leaving behind a husk in constant shadow. The faint scent of rotted wood and smoke seeped through the walls and I kept one hand on my gun as another reached for the door.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed at my hip, causing me to jump back.

I cursed my reaction. It's just a house. You're not 12.

"Swan."

"Have you never watched a scary movie?" An annoyingly smooth voice drawled. "You don't go into the haunted house by yourself."

I blinked. "You have my number." Translation: What the fuck.

"You have mine. And you didn't call." He didn't sound surprised.

I rolled my eyes and opened the door, when his first question sunk in. "Wait, are you...outside? Have you been following me?"

"Two girls have gone missing in the past two weeks, and you're the only cop I trust in Forks," he explained matter-of-factly. "I'm being careful."

"It's called stalking," I objected, scanning the room.

He chuckled, the vibrations slinking through the phone down my back. "There are worse things to be accused of." A car door slammed shut.

"I'm on your side," he clarified. "We both want to find my niece, and you haven't been back since graduation. You need me."

"I don't, actually," I bit out, checking each of the rooms. "And in case it wasn't clear-I'll work with you, but I do not work for you."

"So why work with me at all?"

Downstairs-clear. "Like you said, two girls are missing. So I'm being careful too."

"Then you shouldn't be going anywhere alone."

I raised my eyes skyward, counting backwards from ten. "Were you always this controlling?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" He shot back, confirming that I hadn't exactly been inconspicuous in high school.

"Just...stop being creepy and come inside." Famous last words. "This is the address I got from the school for Jessica and her father. Or more accurately, the people who stole their identities."

The stairs creaked and groaned as I made my way to the second floor. A few more seconds passed before I dryly noted, "It's your turn to tell me something that might be useful."

I could hear him deliberating. "This was a safe house we used to store product."

Uneasiness slithered down to my stomach, the tentacles stretching and taking root. "Then I guess I'll see you inside."

If possible, the interior was even less welcoming. There wasn't any kind of furniture, clothing, or food. Burnt candles, sandwich wrappers, and empty water bottles were scattered in a corner, providing the only evidence that someone had been here, but no more than a few days.

Despite what the school told me, no one had lived in this house for years.

Edward stood at the base of the stairs, leaning against the fragile handrail, which wobbled precariously under his weight. "We haven't used this place in the past six months." He nodded towards the wrappers and water bottles. "Those aren't ours."

I eyed him speculatively, ignoring the uptick in my pulse, as a theory started to take shape in my mind. "Do any of your...associates have a daughter who's around Tanya's age?"

"You think Tanya was kidnapped for revenge," he interpreted flatly.

"You don't?" I asked, slightly bewildered.

"No. They know better." His voice was tight but adamant.

I crossed my arms. "You're not untouchable." Even the most organized crime families had traitors.

His gaze darkened, heat flaring in the green irises. "Not to you." With that parting shot, he strode into the next room. "Why would my niece ask you to find her?"

"She said she felt responsible over some mean comments, which may have had something to do with her disappearance," I replied, ignoring his weird answer and continuing my inspection.

"So this girl might have retaliated by taking Tanya," he guessed, his voice carrying an undercurrent of menace.

"It's possible," I said uncertainly, suddenly aware that we were alone and miles away from the nearest house. "But you can't tell me it's a coincidence that this house-"

Suddenly, I froze. A familiar glint of what looked like gold winked at me a few feet away.

My stomach sank. "Edward. Get over here. Now."

Bending down, I reached out with a tissue to gently wiggle the piece of jewelry loose. It was a gold ring, temporarily covered by layers of dust.

His shoes appeared next to mine. "That's Tanya's promise ring," he confirmed gravely, as I handed it to him for closer inspection, careful not to touch him.

I raised an eyebrow, even as my stomach dipped from the clue. Tanya had been definitely been here, but probably not by choice. "A promise to stay in school?"

"No." The answer was swift and cutting. "A promise that you'll do whatever is needed for the family."

One that you clearly didn't break. "Couldn't help notice that you don't have one."

He smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I lost mine."

Right. I cleared my throat. "Several sandwich wrappers and empty water bottles in the corner, but no nonperishable food. I don't see any blankets or clothes. Whoever stayed here didn't do it for long."

He continued to stare at the ring, rolling it around. "Agreed. What else did the school say?"

"They've got tapes that we can use to ID Jessica and her father."

"We? Finally warming up to me, detective?" His husky tone caught me off guard.

Humor has always been my chosen defense mechanism; it seemed flirting was his.

Too bad I wasn't going to accommodate him. "Until we get those tapes, the next move is to talk to Tanya's friends," I replied firmly, walking away. "They'll know what's going on better than any of the adults do."

"I think you're in a better position to do that," he commented, pocketing the ring and following me to the door.

"Why, because we'll braid each other's hair and talk about boys?" The midday sun scorched us, refusing to back down. Thank god I packed heavy duty deodorant.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Really? I was standing in an empty house with a mobster, and I was thinking about body odor?

His eyelashes swept low, drawing attention to his high cheekbones. Arrogance dripped from his smile. "So they'll have a chance of being articulate."

I shielded my face, which scrunched up with disbelief. "You just said that. Out loud."

He casually shrugged those broad shoulders, muscles flexing under his navy t-shirt. "They're usually staring at me from a distance, so I can't imagine you'll get much out of them if I'm next to you."

Mischief tugged at the corner of his lips. "Remember?"

I sniffed, refusing to lower myself to his microscopic level. "I used to think crimped hair and bell bottoms were in. My taste was questionable."

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't know what half of those words mean."

Spoken like a straight male in his late 20s. "I'll talk to them," I replied, exasperated. "Just get them all in one place. If you want to do me a favor, approach them in a black van."

A smooth chuckle rumbled from his chest. "A mouthy cop with a chip on her shoulder. You deserve your own TV series."

I smiled, baring my teeth. "As long as I get to shoot the mob boss during the finale."

He stepped closer, the green irises appearing brighter against the inky black. "I think there are many things you want to do to me, but shooting me isn't one of them."

"You think I still have that stupid crush on you after all these years?" Sweat clung to the backs of my thighs, but I stubbornly refused to move.

His eyes dimmed, and the mask resurfaced. Whatever game we'd been playing was over. For now. "No. I think you had that stupid crush on me until prom night."

Panic stabbed my chest, but I managed to stay still. We hadn't spoken since that night, and a few weeks later, I left. Sometimes, usually after a few drinks, I wondered what happened to him. I wondered how I'd been so wrong and stupid, but mostly-

I wondered if either of us had been able to recover.

"Finally, something we can both agree on." I shakily wiped my hand on my shorts.

The heat of the sun was nothing compared to his stare on my back as I walked away.

* * *

What's better than free food and milkshakes? Apparently a glimpse of the town's Michael Corleone. Tanya's friends met us at a local diner a few hours later, eyes wide with teenage excitement and completely hooked on Edward's every word. I smothered a laugh, realizing that she probably didn't enjoy this attention as they seemed to.

Unfortunately, Tanya's squad hadn't told me anything I didn't already know.

I washed my hands and sighed, taking in the lack of sleep that registered under my eyes. Both mysteries were becoming more convoluted, stubbornly refusing to unravel. Each detail was a thread that wrapped around me, tightening until I could barely breathe.

BAM! The bathroom door slammed open, revealing a nervous Jane Griffiths, Tanya's best friend. Her frantic gaze zeroed in on me, and she hurriedly locked the door.

Jane opened and closed her mouth. "There's something...you should know," she started timidly. "Two weeks ago, Tanya slept over. I woke up in the middle of the night to her screaming, 'No, no' and 'Stop'. At one point, she said, 'I'll kill you'".

I narrowed my eyes. "Was this the first time?"

"That I know of. Tanya said it was because of some YouTube video, but she barely flinches through horror movies."

I nodded, my pulse racing with the newfound implications. "And she's never mentioned Jessica Stanley?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't think I've even seen them in the same room. Look," she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Tanya wasn't some rich bitch who ruled the school. She was kind and thoughtful. She fucking volunteered at an animal shelter."

Jane's bottom lip trembled. "This shouldn't have happened."

Sympathy tugged at my chest. "Thank you, Jane." I placed a hand on her shoulder. She nodded jerkily, brushing the tears from her face.

Two knocks broke the silence. "Miss Bella," a muffled voice announced behind the door. "You need to come out."

I exchanged a look of confusion with Jane, before we opened the door.

Edward's gaze locked with mine, rife with warning, but it was too late. The diner had cleared out, and I stopped when I saw why.

The Capo of the Cullens sat in the middle booth, flanked by two bodyguards. Sprawled out like poison ivy over a stone surface, Caius fixed his unsettling stare on me, the pupils having swallowed any trace of color or humanity.

"Is-a-bell-a Swan," he teased. "Oh, I've missed you, girl." The middle word was growled, like he was savoring a meal.

My throat constricted. "Why would Caius Cullen grace me with his presence?"

He rapped his fingers on the table, and though every step I took felt like my legs were made of lead, I forced myself across from him.

"C'mon now, pretty." My fingers scratched my knee at the old nickname. "Our families are tied. You're an honorary Cullen."

A puzzled expression wrinkled his classically handsome face. "Y'know, that's not something we have anymore. Honor. You used to be able to walk down the street and know that you were among friends. Grab a shake here and catch a movie at the drive-in like a good little sheep."

He leaned forward. "You used to know your place."

I felt his leg press against mine under the table. "That's all people want, pretty. To be put in place, so they know what they should and shouldn't fear. To feel safe, even if it means climbing into a box they can never crawl out of."

His eyes pierced mine knowingly. "Everyone wants to be part of a community. And I decide where they go."

"Do you practice that speech in the mirror?" I casually replied, extremely aware of the number of bullets in my gun and the number of feet to the door.

He roared with laughter, slapping the table, making me flinch.

"Oh, Lord, this one's a keeper. THIS ONE'S A KEEPER, EVERYONE!"

He chuckled, leaning forward. "I think it'd be difficult to make you disappear, right, pretty? Just like my daughter and her classmate did."

I smiled sweetly. "Don't worry. I'll find them."

"Of course you will," he cooed, stroking his finger down my wrist. "I'm glad you're back, Bella. It's nice to catch up with old friends."

I fought the urge to break it. "Is that what we are, Caius?"

"That's what you want to be. Your father understood that better than anyone. That's why no one ever touched you."

His gaze shifted to my left. "No matter how badly they wanted to."

Whatever he saw there must have further incensed him, because his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "To be honest, I don't give a shit about people and their places. I love it when they fight."

His eyes glowed with malice and excitement. "It's wrapping your fingers around the prettiest neck and squeezing until they beg you to stop. And you do. Only to watch that hope burn out as you reach for them again."

That's when he confirmed something I'd always believed: monsters do exist.

My fingers drifted toward my gun.

But they're not bulletproof.

As if he knew what I wanted, Caius smirked and stood. "Find T," he reminded Edward, indifferent toward the whereabouts of his only daughter. "Or start making funeral arrangements."

Only after the door slammed shut, did I take a full breath. "Does he ever show up when he's wanted?" I asked, a tremor belying my sarcastic response.

Edward stepped up, his chest brushing against my back.

"Not that I know of," he answered tightly. "I'm impressed. Ten years ago, you wouldn't have been able to sit across from Caius and talk to him. Or me."

I swallowed. "I grew up."

Ding!

I slid my phone out and read the text, anticipation caused my breathing to quicken.

Angela had delivered.

* * *

DAY 5

Six hours. That's how long I spent watching and skipping through the footage, a week before Jessica vanished. Did I find anything?

You guessed it.

After watching another teacher sip from his flask in between classes (the public education system everyone), I decided to take a break. Of course, that's when Edward called.

"I got your screenshot," he said without warning. "The man posing as the father is Phil Dwyer. Used to work for us until we discovered he'd been stealing."

His voice lowered. "We let him go two days after the conference."

Meaning Phil was now sleeping with the fishes. "And you didn't think to mention that?"

"Phil was a drifter with no known family. That's why we recruited him in the first place."

"Just like Jessica," I pointed out flatly. "One of Tanya's friends mentioned that she'd been having nightmares about someone. She said she wanted to kill them." My heart pounded. "Could she have been talking about Phil?"

"No," he answered emphatically. "Those meetings are never held at the home. If someone was hurting her, I would know."

"Are you sure?"

There was a second of hesitation. "Yes."

"Then you're wrong," I objected, my fists clenching. "You can't completely know someone. They don't fit neatly into boxes that you use as coffins."

"Maybe they're exactly who you think they are," he retorted, his voice rising. "You just refuse to admit it."

Frustration boiled over, making me stand. I gripped the edge of the desk, shaking with anger. "Then tell me," I demanded, almost desperately, struggling to find my footing on a cliff overlooking dangerous waters. "Stop dancing around and say it."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In-

"You're haunted, Bella," he accused. "Anyone can see the ghosts that you've carried since the day you left."

I heard the clinking of ice cubes against glass. "Caius is right-we're connected. But not because of our families. We're not the main characters here. We're just two people who tried to escape when they thought they still could." There was a wistfulness in his tone, as if he were reading a fairy tale.

I stumbled backward, my thighs hitting the chair. "If there's anything haunting me, it's what you did."

"I know. That's why I stayed that night."

"Why should I believe you?" I asked sharply.

A heavy sigh, the sound almost resentful, rattled my ears. "All the times I'd catch you staring at me-didn't you wonder why I never looked away?"

My breath caught.

"You said you grew up," he continued softly. "But some things aren't erasable. I know my place. Maybe you'll know yours."

The call dropped. I collapsed into the chair, placing a hand over my mouth and feeling it quake against my lips.

 _Forks High School, 2007, Prom Night_

" _Please, daddy," I whispered frantically. "There's five of them, and they're-" Another grunt wheezed out of Edward's chest, as two boys pummeled him in the gym behind me._

 _I flinched. "Please hurry."_

" _I'm calling for back-up now. But you gotta get out of there. Understand?"_

 _Meanwhile, Goon #1 had reached inside his jacket, and I saw a flash of metal._

 _I didn't think. I reacted. Clutching the heavy material of my dress, I kicked the door open. "Stop!"_

 _Edward's head snapped up. My stomach dipped at the fiery stare, as if he wished I were dead in that moment._

" _Who the fuck are you, sweetheart?" Goon #1 barked, pointing his gun._

 _My eyes widened, the stupidity and severity of my actions finally dawning on me. "The p-police will be here any m-minute," I stammered, adrenaline channeling into full blown terror._

 _Confusion hardened into calculated amusement. "This won't take long." He waved his gun next to Edward. "Get over there."_

" _She's the sheriff's daughter," Edward explained tiredly, blood dripping from his mouth. "You kill her, and the whole town comes after you."_

" _I don't, and she runs to tell her daddy about what she saw."_

 _Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. The words clawed against my insides viciously, but lodged in my throat._

 _He fired a warning shot, the sound ricocheting through the room. "Now."_

 _Numbly, I shuffled over, my limbs heavy with dread._

 _Goon #1 sneered. "Wrong place, wrong time," he taunted. "How's it feel, Cullen? To let this stupid bitch die for you?"_

" _Pretty good, since it's not gonna happen," he replied calmly, as if he were just biding his time._

 _Goon #1 snarled, shoving the gun so I felt the cold metal against my cheek. "You think I won't put a bullet in her, you piece of shit?"_

 _He slowly raised his head. "I think, when you're staring down the barrel of my gun, you won't have the chance to scream." It was a promise, not a threat. His voice was unsettlingly cold, the words steady and sure._

 _And that's when I knew my Edward Cullen-the secretly sensitive, tortured soul-had never existed._

 _BAM! The gym doors slammed open, and I jerked my head to see Emmett and Jasper Cullen burst in, bullets firing all around us. Edward and I ducked for cover, hiding behind the bleachers, where I struggled not to vomit._

 _Sounds of chaos echoed, blasting my eardrums, but my arms felt paralyzed. There was too much yelling, too much firepower, too much noise-until sneakers screeched across the floor, signaling a retreat. The gym doors banged open and swung shut._

 _Finally, all was still._

 _Edward got up and walked towards his brothers, wiping his face._

" _Did you get it," he asked flatly, his gaze fixed on Goon #1 lying on the floor, blood seeping from his side._

" _Fuck yeah," Emmett declared. "Thanks for keeping them occupied." He and Jasper high-fived, hollering in victory, as I stood behind them, my arms clutched around myself._

 _Edward's gaze shifted to me, before holding out his hand._

 _Jasper rolled his eyes, muttering, "fucking drama queen", but handed the glock to his younger brother. Each step reverberated through the gym as he moved towards the groaning teenager._

 _The gun aimed at the goon's chest, eliciting a whimper, a wordless plea._

" _Relax, Paul." He almost sounded soothing. The corner of his mouth lifted. Inch by inch, he lowered his arm until the gun pointed at the ground again. Relief spilled across my skin like honey, and I waited until sensation returned to my clammy fingers. My lips parted-_

 _BANG! The sudden gunshot made me stumble backward. I saw him then. The body. He had a glazed expression, his mouth wide open, as if he were mid-scream. Blood splattered across his face._

 _My stomach rolled and I vomited._

 _Emmett and Jasper made sounds of disgust and awe while tears streamed down my face. Shock bounced around my organs in a way that felt like I could never be still again._

 _When my cries faded, I felt warm fingers brushing back my hair. I tried to bat his hands away, still doubled over, but was tugged toward a wall instead. Supported by the cold cement, I folded like a paper doll._

 _Deep, shuddering breaths wracked my chest. He didn't say anything but he didn't have to. How fucked up would it be to expect comfort or sympathy when he was so visibly the cause of my suffering?_

 _My eyes squeezed shut tightly, as I tried to pretend that he wasn't there, but it was impossible. His presence was palpable, jarring-like a piece of glass lodged in your skin, leaving behind an ugly scar even after healing._

 _Eventually, police sirens broke the silence, and that's when I noticed his brothers had left._

 _Shivering, I finally leaned back. "Go," I croaked._

 _He shuffled, but I couldn't tell if he'd moved closer or further away._

 _I didn't expect a response. I never did._

" _Not you," he said quietly, as if confirming something he'd long suspected. "Me. But never you."_

 _I swallowed, fresh tears spilling over. When the police arrested him, I was engulfed by my worried father and my hysterical mother. Later, they told me I'd been in shock, which made sense._

 _But I remember how calm Edward was, as if this had been his plan all along._

I sat there for so long, lost in the traumatic memory I thought I'd repressed, that I'd missed a call from Alice.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I played her voicemail.

"I know you're on vacation, but you need to call me back," she urged frantically. "I found DNA under the fingernails of the body, and he's here. Det-"

Pause. "End of new messages."

Alice didn't usually call me with these results, and her voicemail was odd, to say the least. I called her back, with no response.

My stomach clenched. Something was wrong.

Luckily, Rose picked up. "Your timing is amazing," she joked. "I'm on a date at an arcade and-yep, he's playing whack a mole. Quick, tell me what a great catch I am."

"You deserve better," I replied distractedly, trying to make sense of the bells and whistles over the phone. "I got a weird voicemail from Alice-she found prints on the body, but it got cut off before she could say who they belonged to."

I heard a door close, shutting out some of the blaring bells and whistles. "Huh. Her car was right next to Jake's when I left the station. Maybe her phone died? If I don't hear anything, I'll swing by on my way home."

"Thanks." I paused, something not sitting well with me.

"Oh I meant to check-I found a couple of my case files missing, ones that relate to Funhouse. Did you grab them before you left?"

"I don't think so," I replied slowly. "Which ones were they?"

"Evidence notes from crime scenes, autopsy results. They were next to the Bulger files, which are also missing."

" _He's here. Det-"_

Shit.

"Jake," I sputtered, recalling the conversation I'd had with him a few days ago. "He asked where they were, and I told him you had those files."

There was a pregnant pause. "I can see your train of thought, Bella," her voice cautious and reassuring. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"Find Alice," I ordered, my hands shaking. "That takes priority."

"Do not assume the worst until we have a chance to talk to Alice."

My head spun from the possibility that a detective I worked with-someone I considered a friend-might be a serial killer.

"Bella-"

"I know, Rose," I interjected. "Find her."

The phone clattered on the desk. What the hell was going on? Given how little we knew, anyone could be the Funhouse killer, but did that really include Jake? Yes, he had the means and the opportunity, but what would be the motive? He'd been a cop much longer than when the first victim showed up. None of the evidence fit. And personally, I knew he wouldn't do those things.

Right?

Mentally drained, I collapsed into my chair and stared at the fixed image of Jessica Stanley in front of me. None of it made sense either. Why did Tanya ask me to track her down? Why would she lie about bullying her? There wasn't any evidence to suggest a connection between them; they've never even been in the same fucking frame-

I bolted upright.

 _I don't think I've even seen them in the same room,_ Jane had said.

 _I wish I could disappear._

Fuck. I know where they are.

* * *

DAY 6

 _Safehouse. Now._

With that text sent, I slid out of the car and pulled out my gun. The house revealed nothing, refusing to support my working theory, which I hoped wasn't true.

A gunshot tore through the night.

Pulse pounding, I crept to the door silently, leaving it ajar as I slipped in. Darkness blanketed my vision, but I heard the sound of faint voices upstairs. With each step, the voices became louder, syncopated with urgency, until I stood behind a charred door.

My grip tightened around my gun, and I pushed inside.

Caius clutched his injured leg, blood seeping from the gunshot wound. Sweat dotted his forehead, yet he appeared irritated, as if this was an inconvenience.

I focused on the brunette shakily aiming the gun at him. Red sweatshirt and ripped tights-the same clothes "Jessica" wore before she went "missing".

My hands steadied. "You don't want this," I advised softly, wishing to heaven and hell that I were wrong.

"Put the gun down...Tanya."

She blinked at me underneath the brown wig and contacts. "You figured it out," she replied sarcastically. "Congrats, detective."

Her father rolled his eyes. "Enough. Give me the fucking gun."

"Stop talking," she gritted out. "Or I swear the next bullet is going through your brain."

I watched her tremble with indignation and fear. The same fear I'd seen when she first came to me for help.

"Someone was hurting you," I interpreted softly. "Someone you wanted to escape from, and become a different person."

Someone like her father.

"Do you know how it feels?" Tanya whispered, her voice breaking. "To wish you could shower in acid and burn your skin off, and know you still wouldn't be clean?"

I planted my feet, fighting back nausea. "Killing him won't help. You're better than this."

"Have you seen my family?" A bitter laugh sputtered from her throat. "This is expected."

"It doesn't have to be," I pleaded, keeping my gun trained on her. "You have a choice. Make the right one."

"I can't. I-I need this, Bella. I need to know he can't hurt anyone again."

"He won't." As if on cue, Edward stepped into the room, his stare fixed on his trembling niece. Relief spiked through me, as I registered he'd gotten my text or might have still been tailing me. Whichever.

He stepped forward. "I've failed you, Tanya," he admitted lowly. "But you can still turn around and recover from this. All you have to do is give me the gun." He stretched his hand out patiently.

Tanya shook her head, tears streaking her face. "No," she cried. "You and Bella and everyone else ignored me. Ignored Jessica. Because girls like us don't matter. We're not allowed to say that our protectors are the real monsters. We're not allowed to scream when-"

"For fuck's sake," Caius drawled, wincing. "Would you like an apology, darling?"

The sound of her gun cocking was his answer.

"You're a smart girl, Tanya," I repeated, wondering if I could get close enough to disarm her. "You can leave and put this behind you."

"Like you did?" She spat, her eyes wild. "And what, keep chasing killers?"

The venom in her voice was obvious, but I flinched at the raw pain underneath.

"Look at me, Tan," Edward soothed. She ignored him, focusing on her father who was bleeding out on the dusty floor.

Her breathing faltered. Despite the rage vibrating through her body, uncertainty splashed across her features, until she simply looked lost.

Slowly, Tanya met her uncle's eyes. They communicated silently, while I debated how this would end.

Edward's hand dropped. "Aim for the heart or the forehead if you want it to be quick," he advised, his words clipped. "Otherwise, the stomach and the lungs are the most painful places to get shot."

I swung my head in his direction. "What-"

"Quiet," Edward snapped, his eyes never leaving his niece. "This is a family matter. Now, you can either take my advice-"

His tone grew steely with intent. "Or you can give me the gun."

It became clear then that Caius Cullen wasn't going to make it out of there alive.

Tanya's eyes darted between her uncle and her father, before landing on me. I lowered my gun and nodded, even as my body turned cold at the realization that I, like my father had done many times before, was going to help a Cullen cover up his crime.

Edward gently pried the gun from her hand.

Soft sobs wracked her slim shoulders, and she fell to the floor.

"Take Tanya," Edward commanded, his eyes fixed on his brother. "Carlisle should be here soon."

For once I didn't argue. Tanya continued to cry on my shoulder, the tears staining my shirt, as I desperately tried to get us both out of there.

Edward sauntered over to his brother, who glared up at him, still holding his leg. The blood had spread, creating a crimson puddle that highlighted how far the Capo had fallen.

"This is what you always wanted." Caius accused venomously. "You've never understood the promise. Family over everything."

I tugged Tanya towards the door, but she dug her heels into the floor.

"You're not family, Caius," he growled, his voice so low it almost sounded nonhuman. "You're just the sick piece of shit who raped my niece."

Unable to leave, I pressed my hands against Tanya's ears instead, trying to protect her from what would happen next. When the shot fired, I absorbed her strangled moan, even as panic climbed up my throat.

Focus. You don't get to fall apart right now.

The sound was still ringing in my ears when I maneuvered us outside. Luckily, the paramedics and the clean-up crew arrived shortly after, though there wasn't interaction between the two.

I stayed with Tanya for as long as I could until we were separated by paramedics. She sat a few feet away, her expression vacant. My lips lifted into an encouraging smile, and my chest squeezed when she attempted to do the same.

Directly behind her, Edward and Carlisle, the only Cullen to be disowned, stared each other down. For some reason, Edward's eyes flicked to me, almost questioningly. Carlisle shook his head in response, and Edward's shoulders slumped.

"Ma'am? Please follow the light."

I turned obediently, wondering what any of that meant, and watched paramedics shut the doors of the ambulance that carried Tanya. The town would know what transpired here in a few hours, but she'd be long gone by then.

"You can say it," A deep voice coaxed. "You're glad he's gone."

The paramedic nodded at her boss. I tugged my blanket closer. "Brotherly spat?"

Carlisle scoffed. "You're not still trying to fix him, are you?"

My grip tightened. "You should know the answer to that."

His blonde eyebrows shot up. "You're the old Sheriff's daughter and he just moved up the family business. The story writes itself."

"Carlisle, it's late and I skipped dinner," I noted impatiently. "For once, will someone stop speaking in riddles and say what they goddamn mean?"

His eyes narrowed. "You think it's a coincidence that Edward killed the brother who just happened to be Capo?"

"Why would that matter? He's the youngest."

"Edward broke the rules." His eyes pierced mine. "Traditionally, he'd get punished, but I think they'll make an exception. Especially after all his work in Naples."

Naples? I shook my head. "You think that, what, Edward knew this was happening and used his niece's suffering for his own gain?"

"I think the man who just shot his own brother is capable of anything," he answered. "Except staying away from you."

His face softened with concern. "Be careful. Even by himself, he's the most dangerous person in any room."

"He's still human," I pointed out wryly. "Though it's nice to know that you still care."

Carlisle brushed a lock of hair from my face. "Of course I do," he replied gently. "You're not a bad person, Bella. And you don't do bad things."

I shivered. "It's not that black and white."

"You've been spending too much time with him." The disapproval was obvious, but I was too tired to care.

"No arguments here," I agreed, standing. "I've also reached my quota of missing persons cases for the week."

"You know I'm right, Bella."

"Goodnight, Carlisle."

LAST DAY

I pulled up the driveway and shut off the car, falling back against the seat. The last 24 hours finally sunk in, ripping away the temporary mental bandages I'd applied, until I broke down to a mess of snot and tears. I cried for Tanya, for Jessica, and for the Funhouse victims.

Speaking of which-my fingers shakily found my phone.

"Hey," Rose breathed, exhausted. "Alice is fine, and the DNA matched to Jake. We traced phone calls to each of the victims, and credit card activity that placed him at the crime scenes."

Her voice shook. "We got him."

I had dreamed of hearing these words since the day I got the case. But all I felt was an oily despair that dripped off of questions to be buried six feet under.

"Good," I replied hoarsely. Because it had to be.

I sighed, and ran my fingers through my hair. "What next?"

"I'm going to take a leave of absence," she announced with forced cheerfulness. "Maybe explore California."

I laughed, my hands falling on the steering wheel. "Fair enough. Didn't you go there last fall? For a long weekend?"

"No, I've never been to Cali," she confirmed. "Must have been Seattle or something."

A somber smile lingered on my face at the forced small talk. "Maybe. It's weird, but I don't feel like it's over. I know we've got evidence, but it feels...unfinished."

"You can't think like that," Rose admonished. "We got him. And you need to be ready for whatever's next."

I bit my lip. "I don't know, Rose. I don't know if I can go back there and pretend I didn't sit next to a serial killer for years."

"So what are you saying?"

My gaze drifted toward the giant house filled with packed boxes. Maybe I wasn't terrified of coming back here, but to find out that I'd never left. "I need some time."

"Fair enough," she repeated. "You've got my number. Don't think you'll ever get rid of me."

"Just like syphilis. How appropriate."

"You'd have to get laid first," she shot back.

We dissolved into tired laughter, wringing out the last drop of comic relief. I'd always thought this town was poisonous, but not enough to destroy me. Just enough to inoculate me from the horrors of the real world, as if a distinct line existed between reality and fantasy, safety and danger-

Killer and friend.

A knock came against my window.

"I have to go," I said hesitantly, when I saw it was him. Why was it always him? "Be...well, Rose."

"See you soon, Bella."

Dropping the blanket, I stepped out and faced him, my fingers idly playing with my jeans.

His gaze searched me, checking for injuries. "Are you...hurt?"

"No," I replied tiredly. "I'm...fine."

Edward nodded stonily, looking to my left. "Tanya confessed that she set up Phil. Got him to pose as her dad with identities she stole off the Internet. When he threatened to expose her, she planted evidence to frame him."

I sighed, unsurprised. "I figured."

He pursed his lips, nodding. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "I owe you."

Is that what this was about? "You don't," I asserted. "Just make sure she gets the help she needs." For some reason, nervousness churned in my gut, even though both cases were resolved.

He nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Tension gripped his shoulders, angling his body forward, as if he wanted to come closer but held back.

"We can't change what happened," I murmured, reflective. "But that doesn't mean things can't be different."

Exhaustion tugged at me, but I forced the words out anyway. "I shouldn't have run inside that night. It was stupid and reckless."

"Yes." The response was swift. He scoffed. "I knew you thought that I could be saved. That I was different." There was a mocking edge that sharpened the words.

"I knew nothing would change. But you-" An agitated exhale broke the insistence, and he backpedaled. "Sometimes, I pretended it could."

Beat by beat, he dragged his gaze up to my face. "I wanted...to believe that I could be as good as you wished I were."

Could. Should. Would. How many words can be used to define lines that trap us, forcing us to entertain futures that weren't truly our own? What if Tanya hadn't been abused? What if I'd found out Jake was the Funhouse killer months ago?

Then again, what's the point? People aren't who they're defined to be. They can be better. Maybe not good, but better.

"You were different, Edward," I admitted earnestly. "I believed that even when I didn't want to."

He watched me closely. "And now?"

"Now...I'm processing that I just caught a serial killer." A disbelieving laugh left me.

A small smile appeared. "You'll have to tell me that story one day."

"Is that an order or a request?"

"An invitation," he clarified, eyeing me. "I think this town can use another detective."

I couldn't resist. "Even a mouthy one?" What the hell was happening? And did I care?

He moved until his arm brushed against mine, barely touching. "I never said that was a bad thing."

Defense mechanism, I reminded myself, as warmth spilt over my abdomen, heavy and invasive. I found myself wondering what to do with my hands, which felt heavy and cumbersome.

"You know, after some people experience trauma, they behave impulsively." His breath brushed my cheek. "Do things that don't make sense because they're grateful to be alive."

My brain registered how dry my throat was, and the alert systems that had been strangely dormant started to blare.

"What are you-"

"You should know," he continued, his eyes black. "That's not what this is."

His stubble lightly scratched my chin before I felt his lips against mine. Our weird, flirty banter had concluded, making way for something dangerous and unpredictable. The previous uncertainty had evaporated, replaced by slow, assured motions and fingers that curled against my hip. Not bringing me closer, but trying to make me stay.

Welcoming the distraction and desperate to escape, I fell into his rhythm, pulling and pushing back. Maybe that's why we were drawn to each other. No matter how far we ran, somehow, we ended up back here.

He said I was haunted, but I knew he had his own ghosts.

Fingers firmly secured in my hair, gently tugging until my lips parted and his tongue slipped in. Don't think. My hands slid up his arms, digging into muscle that rolled and flexed under my touch. Notes of urgency punched through this duet, introducing a more agitated rhythm as we molded against each other.

This was a mistake-plain and simple-but we moved like this was the first and last mistake we'd ever make.

I bit his lip, feeling his grip around my waist tighten, and my back against the door. A low growl rumbled from his chest, as he situated himself between my thighs, shifting and pressing-

I pushed away. "Ok," I forced out, head still cloudy. We stared at each other, waiting for logic to return.

A slow, satisfied smirk stretched his lips. "Goodnight, Bella."

Swallowing, I reached inside my pockets and grabbed my keys. The fucked up ending to a fucked up day. Processing everything was going to take a few hours and a giant bottle-

My hands stilled. Wait. I know Rose has been to California, because she mentioned running into that Robert Pattinson look-alike in L.A.

A week before the third body had surfaced.

I played back the last few days again, combing through every conversation I'd had with her, convincing myself I was irrational, even as the slow burn of realization set in.

"Shot himself right next to his dog." Descriptive, but untrue. The previous detective never had a dog.

"I'm on a date at an arcade." But what if she wasn't? What if she'd been somewhere else, a place with the same bells and whistles and music that I'd heard-

Somewhere like a carnival.

 _See you soon, Bella._

A strangled gasp escaped me.

"Talk to me," Edward's voice sounded faint, like I'd been dropped into a fishbowl.

I shook my head, reminding myself that I just suffered something traumatic. I was being paranoid. Delirious. 100% delusional.

But what if…?

The lamp in the living room switched on, and the remaining pieces clicked into place, the sound identical to the cocking of a gun.

Her gun. Pointed right at me.

Rose's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Hi, partner."

My head turned, as if physically rejecting what I saw.

And that's when I remembered something else. She'd asked how my "new partner" was doing four days ago, but I hadn't mentioned Edward until the day after.

My stomach dropped. Her green eyes, the resemblance strikingly obvious, shifted to the man beside me.

"Hi, big brother," she purred. "It's been a long time."

* * *

Dun dun DUN! Like it? Hate it? Still trying to figure out what the fuck happened? Leave a review and let me know your thoughts!

Also, one more time with feeling: u/8713588/We-Love-Mobward-Contest GO READ!


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